


No Pleasures Here On Earth I Found

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Consensual Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, and they were ROOMMATES, that's what friends are for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 09:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: Bucky asks for a favour.





	No Pleasures Here On Earth I Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chase_acow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_acow/gifts).

It's tough to pinpoint how or when it starts exactly, but it's not hard to figure out where it's leading.

Sam's not a secret government assassin or a super-soldier with enhanced senses, but he's not unobservant. Bucky's been dogging him for weeks, giving him dark glances with dark eyes, and lingering in doorways for a moment too long.

On more than one occasion, Sam's caught his gaze, held it until Bucky slinks off. Sam tries to keep his expression blank. He's waiting for Bucky to crack and be the first to acknowledge this weird dance they're doing, though that may be a pipe dream.

He's not the first, of course, but neither is Sam.

"Why do you two keep staring at each other like that? Can we all be a little less tense, maybe?"

And, thanks to Barton, now it's A Thing they're going to have to confront, probably sooner rather than later. The game starts again, who's going to be the first to speak. Hopefully not Clint.

* * *

Steve's apartment has become home base for them all to filter in and out of, taking meals, discussing plans, and crashing on the couch when it's too late to take the subway. Soon, Sam's spending more time there than his own place. It makes sense when Steve invites Sam to move in.

Sam carries his last duffle bag in while Steve's balancing two boxes of books on one hand like they're filled with air. "Thanks," Sam says. "I spend so much time here, I might as well pay you the rent instead of my chronically absent landlord."

"Great!" Steve laughs. "And we have an extra room collecting dust, anyway."

The _'we'_ pings around in Sam's head.

"Uh, you're using the royal 'we' now?" he asks.

"No, the me and Bucky 'we.'"

Bucky's frequently there, of course, but so is Natasha, and Clint, and even Maria's eaten dinner with them five nights out of six this week. The thought never occurred to Sam that Steve might already have a roommate; that seems like something he should have known already.

"Oh. Right," Sam says belatedly when he notices Steve watching him with a quirked brow.

* * *

Not even a week later, Sam's brushing his teeth before bed when Bucky crowds in behind him.

"Can you wait your turn?" he asks around the bristles. There's no real heat to it, just a tinge of annoyance.

"No, thanks," Bucky says, just as mild. He shuts the bathroom door.

Sam spits in the sink and straightens up to look at Bucky in the mirror. Bucky's smiling at him, and it's almost not sarcastic-looking. Sam tries not to smile back, though some part of him is yelling at him that when attractive people smile like that, he ought to reciprocate. Even if said attractive people are crowding him out of the bathroom.

"You've been watching me," Bucky says.

Sam snorts. "You've been watching me."

Bucky crosses his arms, holding his elbows. Sam's long since stopped noticing the artificial arm, but when Bucky's wearing one of his loose sleeveless tee-shirts, it's kind of hard to miss. Bucky gives him a long, obvious look, sweeping up and down. Okay, so they're both watching each other.

"Are you sure about that?" Bucky asks.

Sam drops his toothbrush back into his drawer and nudges it shut with his hip as he turns. There's not much space in the bathroom anyway, and now they're standing chest to chest.

"Yeah, pretty sure."

"Fine. Maybe."

There's a long stretch that edges into uncomfortable silence. Bucky drops his gaze, first time Sam's known him to be the one to break eye contact, before he speaks.

"Was gonna ask you for a favour, but I don't have to."

Bucky sounds… Not that he and Sam have spoken for hours on end or anything, but Bucky sounds off to Sam's ears. A little softer and almost tentative. Not anything Sam's really expecting.

"Shoot, man," he says, all annoyance swiftly fading away. "I'll help if I can."

Steve's confided to Sam that he worries about Bucky, about how he's adjusting to life these days and how he's feeling about all the programming that's been stripped out of his mind. With Bucky's delicate (for Bucky) approach to asking, maybe he wants a therapist recommendation or something.

"You're into guys, right?"

Sam can't help it—he chokes a little on his own breath. "Uhh, what?"

"Steve just said… You're into men. You're gay, right?" Bucky looks a little like Sam feels right now, caught off-guard, weirdly vulnerable, like a headache is coming on swiftly.

This isn't idle conversation, nor is it comfortable, so if Bucky's asking, he's got a reason, Sam figures.

"Yeah, kind of. Bisexual, I usually say. Do I want to know why?"

Bucky moves towards the door, but Sam puts his hand on the knob first. "No, seriously, that's not a question you sneak up on a guy with while he's brushing his teeth."

Bucky sighs, long-suffering and far too dramatic when he's the one springing the personal questions at ten-thirty at night.

"I just… wanted to know, is all. Trying to figure out some things, I guess. 'Night, Sam."

Sam holds his hands up in surrender and lets Bucky leave. He can tell he's not getting any more clues tonight.

* * *

The next morning, after Steve embarasses Sam on a run, they get back to an apartment that smells like fresh coffee and warm bread.

"I just heated up bagels from the place on the corner," Bucky says, not looking up from his mug when Steve starts with the glowing praise.

"Still, Buck, this is great. Right, Sam?"

Sam's not fussed if his bagel is warm or cold, but he has to admit, the apartment smells amazing. Plus, it makes the bitter burn of Steve running him into the pavement again a little more tolerable. "It's great. Thanks, man."

Bucky glances up at him sharply, like he didn't realize Sam was there.

"You're welcome," Bucky says, after a moment too long. Sam just nods and helps himself to a bagel before heading to his room.

Steve knocks on the door a few minutes later, already showered and redressed in his uncomfortable-looking business casual. "Gotta go meet with Tony." He sounds positively thrilled. "If everything goes well, I'll be home around dinner time."

"And if it doesn't?" Sam asks, because that's about the way these talks have been going lately.

Steve grimaces. "Well, you'll see us on the six o'clock news."

"Sounds good. I'll be sure to tune in."

Steve leaves, quiet fills the apartment, and Sam finally peels off his tee-shirt, dropping it in the hamper with great prejudice.

He's barely made it under the hot spray of the shower when there's a knock on the bathroom door. "Hang on, man, gimme a few minutes here."

If there's a response, Sam doesn't hear it. He figures that means Bucky just pissed in the kitchen sink like a regular weird roommate would, or it was burglars and they're just real polite.

It's neither, it turns out. Bucky's waiting outside the bathroom the moment Sam opens the door, towel hanging off his hips, sweaty track pants in his arms.

"Man, you trying to catch me without pants on?"

"I need a favour. I mean, I'd like to ask you a favour."

"A new favour, or continuation of last night? Because if you want to quiz me about personal shit, fine, I'm in, but at least let me get some clothes."

"No, it's—" Bucky stops himself and takes a breath. Sam pauses for a second and watches him closely, watches the set to his jaw, how he pulls his teeth over his bottom lip like he's concentrating on his breath instead of whatever he wants to ask for.

"You're looking at me, Wilson."

"You're in my personal space, trying to ask me for something you obviously don't want help with, Barnes."

"Well, where else am I supposed to look?"

Sam turns back. "You're being weird."

"Can we have sex?"

Sam corrects himself. "You're being way too weird."

Bucky doesn't even have the good grace to look apologetic. Like he'd been fighting with the words enough that now that they're out, he's just relieved.

"You think because I said I'm bisexual and I'm interested in some men, that I'll just sleep with whoever?" Sam asks. He starts with that because he can't bring himself to touch on any of the other reasons Bucky might be asking yet.

"No, jeez, nothing like that. Just, a guy's got needs and… You know me, right, or you know me good enough by now. I don't think I scare you, you're not weirded out by this." Bucky shrugs his cybernetic shoulder. "I thought maybe you'd be up for it."

"You think because I'm not scared of you, that's a good enough reason to sleep together?"

"Sure. I don't know. You haven't thrown a punch, started yelling, or stormed off…"

Sam fails to find a quip to shoot back to that. Bucky's got him there, and he knows it.

"You've heard the phrase 'no strings attached'?" Sam asks. He says it before he thinks better of it. It's stupid and reckless at best, dangerous at worst, to be fuck buddies with a roommate.

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Bucky glances up, away, even as he's answering.

Sam bites out a laugh and rolls his eyes. "What?"

"No, nothing, forget it. No strings is what I wanted."

* * *

Bucky follows Sam into his room and reaches for his towel almost immediately.

"Chill," Sam tells him, batting his hand away.

It's weird, right, having someone in his room for the first time, especially when the person is a close friend of a close friend, and also his roommate, and also an internationally-feared secret assassin. Sam tells himself it's weird and he needs a minute to compose himself.

He turns to tell Bucky this, that he needs a minute, that they should come up with a set of ground rules or something, but Bucky's right behind him when he turns around.

"Planning on making this a habit, being right in my space like this?" Sam asks. He finds suddenly that he doesn't mind it like he thought he did. Is it the anticipation of what's about to happen? Or has he just gotten used to Bucky being this close?

"Sure," Bucky says. All his awkwardness seems to have evaporated since Sam said yes. He moves easy and fluid, eyeing Sam closely with something like hunger in his eyes.

"Is that okay?" Bucky asks, belatedly. Sam realizes they've both been staring a bit too long. 

Sam doesn't answer exactly, just reaches for Bucky's hips and pulls them in flush together. Bucky blinks, surprised, and then a smile starts to creep over his face. Sam kisses it, because he's worried it's going to turn sarcastic, like Bucky's so great at. Not because the way it crinkles Bucky's eyes is endearing.

Bucky doesn't really kiss him back, or if he does, it seems… perfunctory. Wooden. Sam pulls back.

"So, no kissing?" It's not how Sam imagined, or how he prefers, but maybe it's because Bucky was raised when he was. Sex, sure, it's an urge, but kissing makes it too personal, or something.

"No, it's okay—it's _good_. I wasn't expecting it, is all." Bucky leans back in and brushes his lips over Sam's.

"If you don't want to," Sam starts.

"No," Bucky says, more forcefully. "It's good. I want whatever you want. I asked you, remember?"

They're still pressed flush from the hips down, but it's tragically unsexy in this moment. Sam tries not to frown, but he feels he might be unsuccessful.

"I want… to do whatever you want," Bucky tries again. "That's what I meant when I asked if we could… I ain't been sleeping."

Sam's brain catches on the non sequitur hard enough to jog him out of the moment. He steps back and waits for Bucky to fill in the blanks.

Bucky makes a little involuntary protest noise over the loss before he seems to collect himself. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging it out of his eyes. When he looks up, he's got a wry smile that Sam reads loud and clear as self-deprecating.

"I never used to have problems sleeping. I never used to have manys problems at all. These days…"

Sam nods along. 'Never used to have trouble sleeping' is a very familiar sentence. There's always a ton of 'used to's for veterans and soldiers.

"I just think I need a chance to get outta my head a bit, y'know? Not like, out-out. Nothing like that."

There's a jumble of feelings in his chest that Sam has neither the time nor the inclination right now to pick through, not with Bucky standing right here, open and looking defeated and slightly disheveled. 

"So this is the favour? You just really need me to fuck you?"

Bucky bites at his bottom lip again, and Sam doesn't know how to take his eyes away from that sight. "Yeah," he says finally, and then trades demure and vulnerable for narrowed eyes and a wicked smirk. "So long as you think you can do it right."

"Okay," Sam agrees. He's not taking the bait, he tells himself. It's just helping a friend in his quest for a touch of nature's Ambien. "Well, follow my lead, then."

Bucky seems to do better with that in mind. Maybe he just needed the reassurance that Sam was into it, or maybe a lot of things, but when Sam brings their mouths together again, Bucky kisses back in earnest.

For a guy seventy-plus years out of practice, he's actually pretty good at it. Bucky lets Sam lick into his mouth and makes a sweet little noise that Sam's going to remember for a while. 

Sam pushes lightly at Bucky's shoulders, walking him back towards his bed. Sam expected more resistance, honestly, even if this was Bucky's idea. He wasn't expecting Bucky to be so pliant.

Bucky makes another little noise, straight into Sam's mouth, when his calves hit the bed. The sound runs straight through Sam like an electric current. He pushes at Bucky's shoulders again with more force, and Bucky lands heavy on the bed, breaking the kiss.

"Sorry, didn't mean to get rough," Sam says, cringing internally, but Bucky's eyes go wide and dark, and he's looking up at Sam with something a bit stronger than lust.

"S'okay." Bucky sounds more broken than a minute of awkward negotiations and a few kisses should have made him.

"You don't mind rough?" Sam asks, even though the answer is writ large on Bucky's features.

Bucky clearly doesn't even trust his own words right now; he just shakes his head and watches Sam intently.

It's all starting to come together now in Sam's mind. Bucky's hesitance to ask for 'a favour,' coupled with his sudden… what is it, shyness? He's a kinky little fucker and he doesn't know how to bring it up. Sam's not a stranger to wanting things a little rougher, a little harder. He can oblige, even if Bucky won't ask him to.

Sam peels Bucky's shirt off him and drops it before he pushes Bucky flat on his back and reaches for his jeans.

The peace and quiet brought on by arousal is short-lived, it seems. "No foreplay in the twenty-first century?" Bucky asks.

Sam pats Bucky's thighs and strips his jeans away before kneeling on the floor between Bucky's legs. He rakes his short nails across Bucky's stomach and gets a gratifying gasp in return. "Quiet, now, I'm getting to foreplay. Want to see what we're working with here."

He presses a kiss to Bucky's knee, then one further up his thigh. Through the tight fabric of his briefs, Bucky's half-hard and gaining, and Sam's not disappointed in the least. He runs one hand over Bucky's erection and wonders briefly how many different noises Bucky can actually make and how many of them are going to make Sam a little crazy.

Sam drops his towel with Bucky's clothes and straddles his hips, then brushes Bucky's hair off his face and studies him closely for a moment. Bucky watches him back, trying to shift to bring them into closer contact, but not throwing Sam off like he easily could.

Bucky's starting to look uncomfortable, which Sam feels a little guilty for starting to enjoy it. He pushes his erection against Bucky's, feeling the friction through the fabric he hasn't removed yet and watching as Bucky's eyes drift closed. Sam hums his approval and leans down, covering Bucky's chest with his own, bringing his lips right against Bucky's ear.

"Now, when you say rough…"

"I don't bruise easy," Bucky says, almost immediately.

Sam chuckles and presses his teeth into the soft skin below Bucky's ear. "Really, now. And you won't mind if I test that, right?"

Bucky shudders under him, exactly the response he was hoping for.

Sam continues to worry his teeth at Bucky's neck, careful to mix sharp nips in with wet kisses and scraping teeth, and occasionally shifting his weight on Bucky's hips. Bucky's hands flutter at Sam's waist, like he can't decide where to put them. Sam grazes his fingers over Bucky's left shoulder, experimentally, feeling scars and a distinct line between flesh and top-of-the-line, Stark-brand innovation. Bucky freezes, tenses up, and Sam feels the muscles in his neck move like he's swallowing down his first reaction.

Bucky doesn't speak, and he doesn't fling Sam onto the floor. Sam half wants to ask if it's okay, but Bucky moves against him, pushing his shoulder up into Sam's touch.

It's too easy to lie like this and slide his mouth over Bucky's skin, to soak up the warmth that's building between them, and to drink in all the perfect sighs Bucky makes when Sam's teeth dig in a little more sharply than before. They're both hard, rutting against each other like this. Sam can feel a damp spot growing on the front of Bucky's underwear and, hey, why does he still have those on?

Sam slides backwards off Bucky's hips until he's standing again. Bucky makes an indignant noise, finally opening his eyes again. Indignant noises turn to appreciative ones, and that's a bit of an ego boost Sam won't turn down.

Trying not to telegraph his movement and knowing Bucky can probably tell anyways, Sam reaches for him and hauls him to his feet. Bucky's still pliant as anything, even as Sam manhandles him upright—or maybe because Sam's manhandling him? Further testing required, he thinks. 

Sam pulls them together, flush again and this time with the added benefit of being able to grind properly against Bucky's thigh. When Bucky tries to do the same, to get some much sought after friction, Sam pinches the soft skin over his ribs. Bucky hisses out a breath and stills his hips, dropping his mouth to Sam's shoulder to give him a gentle kiss.

It's not difficult to get one hand into Bucky's long hair and twist a few locks around in his fingers until he can use it to pull Bucky's head back, exposing the perfect curve of his throat and netting Sam the most pornographic moan he's ever heard.

It's impossible at that point not to lock one arm around Bucky's waist to hold him still and suck a deep, purple bruise into his throat, just above his Adam's apple. Bucky pushes his luck and grinds his hips into Sam's. Sam lets him, riding the thrill of their cocks sliding together through the fabric for another moment or two before he pulls back and pushes Bucky away.

"Get on the bed, up on your knees."

Bucky heaves another one of his iconic sighs while Sam starts rooting through his half-unpacked boxes to find condoms and lube, but he's eventually triumphant and he drops them on the bed.

Stripping Bucky the rest of the way takes only a second, and when Sam smacks Bucky across the ass, more for effect than for causing any pain, the reaction he gets is beautiful. Sam's never been any kind of sadist, but when Bucky shivers and pants and looks over at Sam with eyes so dark Sam can read the wanting from across the room… yeah, Sam can see why people are into this.

He starts with two fingers in Bucky's ass, imagining the burn and the stretch, and hearing Bucky murmuring to himself as he tries to be still. Sam presses a kiss to the small of Bucky's back. He's a network of scars, mostly old, some newer, and Sam spends a long time following their paths with his eyes and free hand as he works Bucky open with the other. Sam twists his fingers, scissoring them out, and Bucky groans grips at the sheets.

'No strings attached' might be tricky when all Sam's going to think about for next six months, every time he's got a second to himself in the shower or he wakes up before the alarm, half-hard under the sheets, is how effortless it's been to get Bucky sighing, whimpering, and squirming for him.

Sam adds a third finger once Bucky starts pressing back into him and angling his hips to try and take Sam's fingers deeper. Bucky says something in Russian that goes a little high and breathless at the end.

"Yeah? Is that right?"

"Fuck," Bucky says, hissing the word between his teeth. "Yeah, please, _Sam_—"

Sam smacks him on the ass again, earning another sweet gasp. He slides a condom on one-handed and only takes his fingers out of Bucky's ass when he's finally ready to fuck him.

The first stroke is slow, measured, and impossibly good. Sam doesn't actually want to injure Bucky, not in a real way, and he wants to make sure Bucky can take it.

Sam bottoms out on the second stroke, and Bucky lets out a groan that Sam feels all the way through him.

"Good?"

Bucky can't get a word out, just another gasp when Sam slides a hand into his hair again.

"Good," Sam answers for him. "It's good, and it's gonna get better."

He sets a fast pace, something he wouldn't have tried on a first date under other circumstances. Bucky takes it, everything Sam's giving to him, and soon the noises coming from him are overwhelming. Sam's going to come, and he has no idea if Bucky's anywhere close. He stops thrusting despite the great personal loss he feels because of it, and tugs at Bucky's hair, coaxing him into kneeling.

"I want you to come," Sam says, hitching his hips forward just to punctuate his words with a little friction inside. Bucky breathes out, a long, ragged, unsteady sound that Sam packs away for some cold, lonesome night down the road. He nips at the juncture between neck and shoulder, feeling Bucky try to go boneless again. Sam tightens his grip on Bucky's hair.

Sam uses his free hand to take one of Bucky's, realizing a second too late it's the left. Bucky doesn't seem to care or notice, for all his earlier concerns. Sam's not sure if he's fine with it, if he's too far gone to notice, or if he, like Sam, is just a little too curious. Sam wraps their joined hands around Bucky's cock, guiding him to jack himself off.

It's pretty awkward after that, for Sam to fuck into Bucky at this angle, but he barely needs to. Bucky's tight, and his whole body tightens even more when he comes, tensing in Sam's arms and breathing out a litany of curses, pleas, and, wow, goddamn, Sam's name. He doesn't need more than that.

It's a long, long moment before Sam slides out of him and lets go. Bucky falls bonelessly to the mattress, not even caring about the mess they've made. Sam feels around on the floor until he finds his towel, still damp enough to clean them both up.

"You good?"

Bucky murmurs a non-word and reaches for him. Sam obliges him yet again and settles in.

* * *

"I said I wasn't sleeping," Bucky says later with his face pressed into Sam's arm, long after they've caught their breath and stretched out under the sheet together.

"It takes a while to get back into a rhythm," Sam agrees. He lets his hand, the one not pinned between them, wander over the bare skin of Bucky's leg tucked between his own.

"This kind of thing… it helps a lot."

"Getting fucked within an inch of your life by a random guy?"

Bucky laughs, soft and warm over Sam's skin. Not a usual, sarcastic laugh, but something sweet and natural. Sam feels a twinge of something inside of him, some emotion he doesn't want to investigate right now while they're stretched out comfortably, coming down off the adrenaline and arousal.

"Hardly a random guy, and you're way too sweet on me to have actually killed me," Bucky says. The twinge turns up a few levels and Sam shoos it away. Something to deal with later, with clearer heads and a warm beverage. It seems like a coffee conversation.

"Well, glad I could help either way. You fading on me right now?" Sam tries to keep his tone light, but even to his own ears, he sounds _fond._

Bucky smiles against Sam's bicep and stretches out his arm to spread across Sam's chest. The matte texture of the almost-skin feels a bit off, but the weight, the proportion, the way the muscles move when Bucky squeezes Sam's shoulder, it's all perfect.

"Yeah, kinda. I can go to my room," Bucky says after a deep, comfortable sigh. He makes zero attempts to move. Sam doesn't try to make him, either.

**Author's Note:**

> <3 thanks for some very inspiring tropes, chase_acow!!  
<3 thanks to queen beta, Sara, may she reign eternal.


End file.
